Put in ten digits or five when not paired. I serve similar purpose to underwear. I am a duo, together we're whole. I'm the woven barrier between body and sole. When I grow too holey I'm discarded or darned. When cold is afoot, I'll keep it warm.

I'm a thingy, a doodad, a thingamabob, a gadget, a widget. But in Hollywood, several decades ago, I was a lovable, furry creature that should never get wet.

A mercuric billionaire, wanted to send me to mars Instead of focusing on self-driving cars. Now he wants to send me to the moon To build a colony, hopefully soon. What am I?

If they are ice or silk, you will slip and slide. If they are flannel you will stay warm as in your room you hide. If they are wood pulp a novel you can write. In Excel you can make their cells any height. Spelled differently, it started in Altoona, Pennsylvania, and now it is in seven states. It is a place to buy what you need for your mouth or your plates.

I stamp things shut so none may pry, or bask and bark where sea meets sky. On wax I rest or waves I feel, both mark and beast, what am I?